Big 3 by derryere [NC-17]
Exchange Story for leeharding123
Title: Big
Author: derryere
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Sex 'n DRUGS 'n ROCK AND-- I mean, language.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
Author Notes/Beta Credits: Okay, a HUGE HONKIN' shout out to sandi_wandi who beta'd this on a supersuper short notice and did an amazing job (Otherwise you'd all be reading about drug dealing squids right now) aaand saved my buttkes. AND!! To yuying_luo, my non-stop support system.
Summary: When it rains, it pours. When you're Draco Malfoy, it's a fucking monsoon.
ACHILLES’ HEEL
Or so we thought it was
It hurt. It hurt so much that Draco was amazed he was still able to breathe, because all his energy must’ve surely been wasted on his senses telling his brain how much he was hurting. He didn’t exactly remember when the noises around him stopped, when even the sound of his own wailing got lost in the muffled buzz that filled his head. He remembered falling down, and hitting his head against something hard. It must’ve been the curb, or… or someone else.
At that thought, Draco immediately opened his eyes. He didn’t know much of fighting, but lying with the dead was never a good sign. It only takes a moment for them to think you’re one too, leave you behind, leave you to rot with the rest.
It was hard to see; whatever he hit his head against, it must’ve still been wet from the rain because little droplets hung from his lashes, blurring his sigh. He made to wipe his face with his good hand, but didn’t quite understand what was happening when his sleeve coloured red. Draco wiped again, with a somewhat whiter patch of cloth, but the same thing happened again. Trembling, he searched the surface of his forehead, cringing almost immediately as his fingers scraped the surface of a deep wound. Looking at his red hand, Draco couldn’t do much to express his horror but scream. He opened his mouth, straining his vocal cords, but no sound came. He tried once more, attempting to set himself off the ground, but the pain in his right arm directly reminded him of what woke him up in the first place.
His arm.
He didn’t even dare to look at it. Merlin knew what kind of an awful spell hit it. All Draco understood was that the spell wasn’t meant for his arm, and that he should be glad Nymphadora seemed to have the worst aim he’d ever seen.
Rather uselessly, he reached for his robes, ripping a big part of the hem with his left arm and using it to cover his right one, sprawled out next to him. With eyes tightly closed, not having a gut strong enough to deal with these kinds of things.
Breathing deeply from the little activity that still deemed to drain him, Draco rolled his head back, looking up at the sky. Still cloudy as ever, though not as bad as before; a few stars were visible through the grey drape. With mixed emotions he remembered what Thompson said earlier. It seemed to make sense now, though. The weather really couldn’t be arsed. Not an hour later, and it still didn’t bother to change. Tens of lives were gone, Draco’s would most probably never be the same again, and yet, there were the two sparrows again - flying through his vision a great height above everyone, not a care in the world.
Draco wished he still had his wand; he’d hex the feathered bitches to their grave.
Almost lazily, he let his head roll to his left, looking farther down the street.
They were still at it. He couldn’t see clearly who they were, the big blurbs of light shooting about and the smoke made it difficult to recognise anyone. All he saw were dark features, fingers clutching to their wand, shadows and shapes; every now and then someone would fall silently. Now that he thought of it - everything, down to the spells, happened in complete silence.
After a small moment of wondering how this could possibly be, Draco brought his left hand to his ear, forming a shell as he covered it. Raised his hand a little, then covered his ear again.
Nothing.
Holy shit, he’d gone deaf.
He was deaf. Completely deaf.
But there were possibilities, right? They could fix it, couldn’t they? The Healers? They better - THEY BETTER! He wasn’t going through life as a deaf man. No way. No way in hell. There must be a solution - there HAD to be. He was a MALFOY, for fuck’s sake! He’d rather die than go through life crippled.
That is, if they even found him.
They’d been so foolish. Of course the Order was expecting an attack, sometime. And of course they couldn’t possibly know where it would come, of course! So they adapted. They had their own ways, own ways for calling for backup. They easily matched the Death Eaters in quantity, and all Draco and his team were left with was a minute’s head start.
And it wasn’t enough. FUCK, it wasn’t nearly enough. It was just like all the other battles, all the other unorganised, stupid battles. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! This was supposed to be different. This was supposed to get them where they didn’t expect it - THEIR ACHILLES HEEL!
But it didn’t. And now, with all concept of time beyond him, Draco numbly watched the remains of his battalion. Who knew how many men were down by now? Who knew if the dark figure just hit by blinding green was a Death Eater of a member of the Order? Perhaps it was Weasley. Or Granger.
He didn’t like the thought of that. He really hoped to be there when that happened.
There weren’t that many left. No more than two dozen for as far he could see right now; some were fighting against two, some couples were attacked by one. He just waited, and hoped - hoped anyone would tear themselves from the battle and come to look for him between the ones that fell long ago. Hoped that someone would realise he was missing, that he wasn’t dead, that he was here! Get him out, get him back home, back to mother. She’d be sure to take care of him, fix his head and arm and ears…he just wanted out of it, HE WANTED OUT!
Towards the outer line of the fight, the one closest to him, Draco vaguely noted another figure fall. For a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of a familiar face, but before he could be sure, his attention was caught by the owner of the hex. Instead of jumping back into the fight, picking out a next victim to battle, the caster quickly turned to run from the scene. Running towards Draco.
It wasn’t until he was a seven feet distance from him Draco realised who the runner was.
“Thompson!” Draco cried, hoping he was making sound because he couldn’t hear a thing.
Tom, ready to run past him, stopped still in his tracks, looking around puzzled. “Malfoy?” his lips formed the name.
“YES!” Draco shouted, trying to lift his head as far as he could. “I’M HERE! I’M HERE!”
Thompson hurried towards him, scanning the ground till he spotted Draco - and he once again fell still.
“I… I’m hurt!” Draco said a little helplessly. “I need you to get me out of here!”
Thompson swallowed, his eyes drifting towards the cloth covering Draco’s arm.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with it. Couldn’t look,” he explained. “Please, Tom, get me out of here!”
But to his great surprise and sinking gut, Thompson slowly - but decisively - shook his head.
Draco stopped breathing. “Wh… what? What no?”
Thompson’s lips were moving quickly now, he said something long that Draco couldn’t follow.
“What?” Draco asked, his hand reaching to touch his ear. “I… I can’t hear you! My ears, they won’t… they won’t work, Tom - PLEASE, just get me ou--!”
“No,” Thomson cut him off. He then gestured towards his own neck, as though he were choking. “Dead,” he said.
“I’m not dead!” Draco shouted desperately. “Thompson, I’m not dead!”
Tom shook his head, pointing at Draco now to emphasize his point. “Dying,” he said. “You’re dying, Malfoy.” And then another stream of words followed, one of which Draco could barely make out a few. Things like “burden” and “no use” and “goodbye.”
“NO!” he screamed at Thompson’s retreating back. “DON’T-DON’T LEAVE ME! THOMPSON!”
He started running, running away from Draco - it didn’t take long before the darkness enveloped him completely.
“FUCK IT, THOMPSON! COME BACK! COME BACK, YOU FUCKING RAT! I’LL KILL YOU! COME BACK! Come…” It was hard to keep the uneven breathing from turning into sobs, even if he didn’t hear it himself. “Don’t… leave… don’t leave me… please…”
Something salty sank into a scratch on his cheek, making it sting mercilessly.
He was going to die.
He was going to die alone and deaf on the curb of a muggle street. No big goodbyes, no hell fire, no single beam of sunlight or a final hex exploding all over the place or anything… just him. Alone. Kind of pathetic and crying. It was so disappointing, the only reason he could think of why he wanted to live right now was so he’d be able to die differently.
So when something large and black blocked the light from his eyes, he was pretty sure he was gone.
Imagine the surprise when the something large and black slapped him across the cheek.
Draco screamed, lifting his left hand to protect him from whatever this was. The black thing retreated a little, and Draco felt a warm hand touching his arm, gently forcing it down. He was shaking, quivering and so ready to just stop breathing altogether. He blinked a few times at the black thing, and slowly began to distinguish a head. A head, and shoulders, and two arms - one hand on his, one holding on to a wand - and a chest, heaving. The person seemed to be breathing shallowly.
He suddenly wished he’d asked Thompson to finish him off.
Granger was kneeling next to him, looking at something he couldn’t see on his left, shouting something he couldn’t make out, motioning someone to come over. She then turned her attention back to Draco, observing him coldly and a little detached. Her eyes lingered for a moment at his forehead, his wound, then travelled to his arm. Without asking, she reached for the cloth covering it. Draco eyed her closely as she quickly dropped it back down, her hand leaving his arm to cover her mouth. Her attention snapped back to him, looking him in the eye for the first time. There was something akin to sympathy and question in hers, and he made sure she wasn’t looking anywhere as he returned it with venomous hate.
“Don’t you dare, Granger,” he said. “Just get away. Just get the fuck away from me.”
She narrowed her eyes, scowling. “Believe me,” she mouthed, “I would love to.”
“I would’ve killed you, you know,” he replied simply. “If I had gotten the chance, I would’ve killed you. I advise you to do the same.”
Granger snarled and made sure he wasn’t looking anywhere but at her as she reached for his right arm, wrapping her fingers around it through the cloth. All Draco could remember before passing out was pain - bigger than life, burning all over kind of pain and a pair of brown, sad eyes.
EIN HALBER HUND
Kann nicht pinklen
“Where is Geoff?”
“Geoff is… dead,” he answered the question, adding a simple grin to it.
The German’s nostrils widened as he took deep breaths, attempting to keep himself calm.
“Bullshit,” he said. “You’re lying, Densil. And you’re only making it worse for yourself.”
“Who, me?” Draco asked, imitating surprise. “But I’m having a great time! You’re a real hoot, kid. Now look me in the eye and tell me you’re not having a great time!”
The German grinded his teeth, which made Draco smirk. He liked the boy a whole lot more when he didn’t talk English.
“Where. Is. Geoff?”
“I told you,” Draco replied in an airy tone. “Geoff is dead. Dead, dead, dead.”
The interrogator slammed a fist on the table. “BULLSHIT, MALFOY!”
Eyebrows raised, Draco blinked at the man. “Temper,” he said quietly, then added with a little more voice, “But I’m not lying though. I saw it happen - Johnny Dimaccio shot him last Wednesday. Two bullets, right in the back. Nasty kid, that Johnny. A mighty breath, though - y’can smell him coming a mile off.”
The German pinched the bridge of his nose, and Draco thought he was way too young for this kind of work. But then again, no one had the ambition like the bottom layer of his generation. Not old enough to have fully participated in the war, not young enough to forget it. Convinced to rectify their parents’ actions, convinced all decisions made in the past decennia were mistakes waiting to happen. Because no one could’ve possibly been thinking straight during the war, right?
Draco was forced to agree with them on that point.
No one was thinking straight. Oh, it felt like they had more clarity than ever, sure! Like suddenly everything made sense and everyone knew what to do because when that spell leaves your wand it feels so good. And when political correctness and unspoken human laws are gone and everything is allowed, then of course - of course nothing seems wrong! But in reality they were all unfocused, more or less high on forced-fed freedom and cheap magic. No one was thinking straight.
Yeah, he’d give them that.
But that’s about as far as it went, too.
“Geoff is not dead, Malfoy,” the German insisted. “The squib was spotted on Burlock street two days ago, for fuck’s sake. Today’s Saturday. Now either your partner has a great talent for taking bullets, or you’re lying. I hope you’ll excuse me for going with the latter.”
Draco grinned. “Never underestimate Geoff,” he replied, shaking his head. “He’s tough meat, you know. For a squib.”
The man snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me about it,” he mumbled, rubbing his neck absent mindedly. “Ministry’s been after the scumbag for years. Each time we get this close he disappears. No trace, no evidence, no nothing.”
Draco’s grin faltered a little. It was his decision completely to do this, and he realised it very well, but it seemed only now to dawn on him he was never going to see Geoff again. It made him feel a little dull inside, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.
“But you!” the German continued, looking at Draco somewhat amused. “You got yourself quite a reputation too, haven’t you? Escaped war criminal flees to the Muggle world only to join the lowest of the kind. I heard quite some stories about you, you know,” he nodded, raising his eyebrows at Draco. “They seem to think you’re quite a something around there. I spoke to one guy who was completely convinced you got stuck in a bad trip a few years ago, that you’ve lost all sense of time and saw everything in fast forward. Like being stuck in Road Runner reruns, I believe he said. Old guy, dark skinned, misses two front teeth - you know who I’m talking about, Malfoy?”
Draco laughed softly. Gotta’ love that Rodney’s imagination.
The German smiled at him, but it was everything but kind. “Tell me where Geoff is.”
Draco shrugged warily, “I don’t know, man. Maybe Rodney has an idea, somewhere like up your-“
“SHIT! Don’t FUCK with me!” he cut him off, finger pointing and standing up wildly, making the chair fall over behind him. “Ein halber Hund kann nicht pinklen, Malfoy. If Geoff wasn’t here to provide your stash, how do you explain the soap?”
“Geoff wanted me to consider it as his parting gift,” he replied, a ghost of a smirk about his lips. “He’s a nice guy, you see.”
The grimace on the young man’s face seemed to worsen; his eyes were narrowed and his teeth barely showing. He took a breath fit for a booming shout - but was refrained from any such activities by a sudden knock on the door. In a blink of an eye the German’s expression was schooled into a calm one, as he cleared his throat.
“Come in,” he grumbled somewhat bitterly.
The door opened and an official looking Auror, not an awful lot older than Draco himself, appeared at the doorway.
“What is it, Art?” the German barked at seeing him. “Can’t you see I’m busy here?”
The Auror observed his college coolly. “Yeah, and that’s the deal, Goldwasser,” he said. “The boss wants to handle this case.”
“WHAT?” the other cried, forgetting his annoyance for a moment. “No way, this is my case!”
Art shrugged. “Boss’ orders. I’m just the messenger.”
“But it’s MY case!” the German insisted. “Fuck, I’ve been on this one for months, they can’t just-“
“They can do whatever they want, rookie.”
Infuriated, the German turned to Draco, jabbing his finger in his general direction - as if it were his fault!
“Hey, don’t look at me, rookie,” Draco said quickly, wriggling his arms under the binds and chains of the chair. “I was just looking for a good conversation.”
MR & MRS INSPECTOR
In which the tables turn
Draco’s eyes snapped open. Wherever he was, it certainly didn’t look like he expected it to. In his imagination it always looked big - really big, with silver clouds and fountains of fire and naked women with wings and… well, certainly no wooden ceilings, like the one he was looking at. Around the time the icky taste in his mouth became unbearable forcing him to swallow, Draco deduced this wasn’t the beyond world. Because even if they did have wooden ceilings, they certainly would not come with wood bugs and beetles.
He wiggled his hips a little, trying out the ground he was lying on. A spring digging into his back told him it was a mattress, and the smell of cat urine told him this wasn’t home. What did share a nice story with him was the great deal of pain in his right arm at the slightest movement.
Immediately stilling himself, Draco craned his memory as to what the hell happened. It didn’t take long to recall, but processing proved somewhat challenging. It was the vaguely familiar sound of kitchenware clucking together that brought him back instantly.
Where the FUCK was he?
Draco clenched his teeth together, took a deep breath and pushed himself against the back of the bed as fast as he could. His arm hadn’t even quit throbbing from the last movement, and a new surge of fresh pain shot through it. He muffled a groan by biting his lip; wanting to inspect his surroundings first before making everyone aware he was helpless and wounded and… well, awake.
What he found, though, was no after world but definitely equally dumbfounding.
Draco blinked a few times. This couldn’t be- no way it was - BRAIN DAMAGE! That had to be it. Severe brain damage, that’s what was wrong with him.
Ron’s elbow, supporting his head in his hand, slowly slid off the chair’s arm. This, however, didn’t wake him up the slightest. He simply made a meaningless sound, barely opened his eyes, and turned to support his chin on the other hand. On Draco’s left hand side was Harry Potter who, on the other hand, seemed to make use of a much more efficient manner of napping: he simply threw his head back over the chair’s back, his mouth wide open, making quiet gurgling noises.
Question mark.
Draco found it an unsettling idea that this scene seemed to make him more nervous than twenty two-headed Hippogriffs would’ve.
“There wasn’t any sugar, Ron, so I just-“
The source of sound caught him so off guard, that for a moment Draco thought the drooling Potter was belly-speaking. But quick his attention snapped towards the other end of the small room, just in time to catch the sight of Hermione Granger dropping the two mugs she was holding, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlight.
The breaking china was enough to make the two sleeping dwarfs jump up, wands out and about before Draco was even able to utter a word of protest.
The scene froze. For what seemed to be a ridiculously long time they all stayed firmly in their positions - Weasley and Potter at both sides of the bed with their wands pointed at Draco’s head, and Draco looking from one point to another, wide-eyed and a little shocked.
It was Granger who spoke first.
“Y-you can put them down now,” she said, looking from Weasley to Potter. “You know he can’t hurt you.”
Weasley looked at her quizzically, as though just realising she was in the room as well, but then slowly lowered his wand. Potter wasn’t as willing, narrowing his eyes at Draco as he drew back his arm - wand forever at Draco’s eye level.
Draco licked his lips. They were dry and doing so helped, just like it helped stretching time before he had to say something. Because honestly, he had no idea what to say. What question to ask or what to accuse them all of - the situation was so farfetched and improbable in his state of mind, that he might as well have found himself in a bath full of pigmy puffs. Though he was certain he didn’t want them speaking first - no, he wanted to pull the answers from them, to make them reply as he swore and cursed and hexed about.
If he could get his wand, that is…
If they even had his wand, because he’d lost it even before… before…
His hand shot up to his ear, ticking on the shell as if checking it. He was hearing! HOLY HELL, he wasn’t deaf! He couldn’t help but let out a relieved chuckle, closing his eyes as he thanked the Gods of war for being kind on-
“We healed it.”
He opened his eyes, looking blankly at Granger.
“Your eardrum,” she explained timidly. “It’s healed now,” she added, looking as though expecting a reply.
“What?” he barked, scowling at the lot. “D’you expect me to express gratitude or something?”
Granger raised her eyebrows. “A thank-you would be nice start, yes.”
“Bite me, Granger,” he hissed. “I didn’t ask for any favours.”
And as though on cue, Weasley was in action. His wand was back up and all too close to Draco’s neck. “Apologise, Malfoy,” he said, surprisingly calm. And vaguely Draco noted something about the boy’s demeanour changed.
“Shove off!” he retorted, swatting away the wand. “I’m not apologising to the mudbl-“
“APOLOGISE!” Weasley boomed, now poking the wand into Draco’s neck. “She saved your life, Malfoy. You know that? She saved your MISERABLE little life - that’s more than a lot of us would’ve done. You should express a whole lot more than gratitude, you little SHIT!”
Unmoved by the speech, Draco stared back at the redhead, feeling the wood jab against his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Granger approach the boy, softly putting a hand on his arm, guiding it back down.
“It’s okay, Ron,” she said. “I really didn’t expect anything else.”
“Oh, stop being so fucking holy,” Draco turned to her, remembering perfectly well how it all happened. “I told you to leave me alone, didn’t I! You didn’t save me because you care, stupid girl - you saved me so you could feel better about yourself! So fuck that, I’m not helping you stroke your ego. Over my dead body I’m thanking you--” He turned to Ron, fuming next to her. “Over my dead body I’m thanking HER!”
He thought the redhead would pull his wand on him again, but to Draco’s surprise, someone beat him to it. The jab, this time, came form the other side - and went straight into his arm.
Roaring in pain, Draco threw his head back, bumping hard against the wall. With the new source of pain in the back of his head, the blonde curled into a miserable ball on the mattress, whimpering quietly.
“Then you won’t talk at all,” Potter said, smiling at him. He then sat back into the large chair, cocking his head so that it aligned with Draco’s current point of view. “Which is kind of handy, because I’ve got some things to tell you. And you know you,” he grinned at Draco, “You wouldn’t let me get out one word, with that attitude problem of yours.”
Draco tried to retort, but didn’t manage anything more coherent than ‘fujoo snfeech!’ Instead he grunted, hoping Potter would sense the insult all the same.
The said boy sighed, leaning back into his chair. “You might have noticed that your arm is a little sensitive right now.”
The anger allowed Draco to forget the pain for a tiny moment, and he barely threw back a “A LITTLE sensitive?!” before Potter cut him off again.
“Let me finish!” he barked, waiting for Draco to calm down before continuing. “The only thing keeping you from a bunch of very pissed off Aurors at the moment is US, Malfoy. Ron, Hermione and me. So you’d better learn to show some self control.” Potter observed him for a few pensive moments, scratching his jaw line. Draco then noticed Potter looked like absolute crap, really, couldn’t have possibly looked better than Draco himself. Unshaved, somewhat dirty and a tired look that could only grow on a person over the time of months, not days.
“Thing is, Malfoy, you’re a reckless little boy,” he resumed his line of thought. “We can’t have you running around, doing reckless little things that’ll get us into trouble. You being here,” he nodded at Draco, “is enough trouble. None of us are healers, but Hermione was prepared to do the best she could to keep the damage limited, out of the goodness of her heart,” he alliterated the sentence as if Draco was still deaf. Snarling, the blonde looked over his shoulder at Granger. The girl seemed determined to look back with as much spirit, but quickly changed her mind, turning away her head. Yeah, as if that would make him go away.
“But, unfortunately for you, Ron and I kind of lack her…graciousness,” Potter continued, demanding Draco’s attention once again. “We found it a much better idea to let that arm of yours heal naturally.”
“Naturally?!” Draco spat, making as much air, trying to get the stray hairs that stuck to his sweaty cheeks out of his vision. “What you MEAN, naturally?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Malfoy,” Potter replied. “It is somewhat healed. You’ve got bones again, that’s a definite plus! But like I said - we can’t have you running around. You can see that…” He flicked his wand at Draco’s cradled arm. “As a reminder.”
“A WHAT?” Draco cried, breathing heavily, pressing his arm more firmly to his chest.
“A reminder,” came Weasley’s voice as he walked into view, standing next to Potter’s chair. “A reminder of the position you are in.”
“The wha…the… the what?!” breathed Draco, his eyes slowly widening. They couldn’t possibly be serious! These weren’t Potter and Weasley - couldn’t be! This must be some kind of test, Polyjuiced, under Imperius! This wasn’t THEM, this wasn’t Gryffindor - this wasn’t heroic! Downright torture, that’s what this was.
“There are some ground rules, of course,” said Potter, ignoring Draco’s confusion. “We save your life, let you live even after you deliberately tried to deprive us of ours - multiple times. Considering those factors, I believe our propositions are extremely mild.”
“Whu--what-FUCK YOU!” Draco exclaimed, pushing himself back up the backboard as the pain in his arm subdued. “I’m not agreeing to anything! I DIDN’T ASK FOR YOU TO SAVE ME!”
Potter shook his head sarcastically, looking up at Weasley who calmly waited for Draco to be finished.
“See, we thought you might say that,” said the redhead. “Had to give you the choice, though. But as you wish, Malfoy. No agreeing on your part will be necessary, we’ll be more than happy to force you.”
“Ron…” he heard Granger mutter from the end of the bed; he hadn’t even noticed her move.
“No, no Ron’s right, Hermione,” Potter interjected. “We gave him the choice. Just like you said, we gave him the choice and you heard what he said!”
“I know - I know that! But can’t we just try and explain what-“
“This is MALFOY, Hermione!” Weasley cut in. “You know there’s no reasoning with him.”
Draco highly disliked the way the three of them talked as though he weren’t in the same room. In fact, he was all too ready to tell them so when Potter beat him to it.
“We let you live here,” he said to Draco, disabling the open-mouthed Granger from speaking. “And you stay here.”
Draco scowled, disgusted at the thought itself. Did they really think they could keep him here? Fucking retards. “You’re off your rocker, Potter,” he told him. “The moment you blink, I’m out of here.”
Potter raised his brows, pulling an impressed impression. “Really?” he said. “With your arm and everything?”
“You really think that’s enough to keep me from running?”
“Was enough to keep you from talking. And that’s saying something.”
Draco threw him a most venomous glare, slowly letting go of his arm - as if proving something. It wasn’t exactly working considering it hurt like hell, but Potter didn’t need to know that. “You can’t stay here all the time, Potter,” Draco said after a deep breath. “You’ll have to go somewhere sometime. And when you do that, I’ll be coming after you, you piece of shit.”
Weasley grinned, touching his forehead thoughtfully. “Without your wand, Malfoy?”
Narrowing his eyes at him, Draco grunted, “I’ll get my wand.” Then to Potter, “although I don’t need a wand to kick you in the face.”
“No, I guess you don’t,” Potter agreed. “But you do need it to lift the wards. Or do you plan to roundhouse kick them in the face too, Malfoy?”*
Draco stared at him, not sure if this was a bluff. “Wards?” he repeated suspiciously.
“Like we said, Malfoy; we gave you the choice.” Potter leaned forward, supporting his arms on his knees. “You’re staying here. Whether you like it or not.”
Draco resisted an urge to bump his head against Potter’s for the sole purpose of inflicting pain on the boy. They were actually planning on keeping him here - in this…
He didn’t even know where he was.
For the first time since he woke up, Draco took the time to look around. Whatever it was - it was definitely small. It looked a little like a cabin. There were no rooms and the only door visible was clearly the exit door. Except for the two chairs next to the bed he was on there was one, ramshackle looking table and a couple of cupboards above a rusty sink.
God, he’d prefer the Grimmauld to this hole.
“You’ll have to take care of yourself,” Potter’s voice made his attention snap back. “There’s an old garden behind, if you’ll ask - kindly - I’m sure we can arrange something for you to plant there.”
“What do I fucking look to you? A POOF?” he spat immediately; at last, a subject that allowed interjection! “I don’t want no sodding flowers, Potter. For fuck’s sake!”
“FOOD, Malfoy! I’m talking about food, you idiot.”
Draco’s glare blanked out. He swallowed. There wasn’t any food here? They weren’t…going to bring him any food?
“Yeah, that’s right,” Weasley said wryly, enjoying Draco’s expression. “Just you and nature, Malfoy. All alone.”
He could feel the blood drain from his face. He wished he could snarl and be a man, pretend to hunt for a hobby and be able to make trees grow by pissing on walnuts - oh, how he wished! But the image of being stuck here, in this godforsaken cabin for the rest of his life, cut off from the rest of the world, no one knowing where he is - HIM not knowing where he is! - branded itself into his brain, making his stomach flip uncomfortably.
“No… NO!” he exclaimed bewildered. “You can’t do this! What’s it to you? Why not just give-“
“Why not just give you to the Aurors?” Potter completed the sentence. “I wouldn’t know,” he shrugged, standing up. “Maybe it’s the goodness of my heart - maybe I’ve got a soft spot, I have no idea. And quite honestly? I don’t care.” He looked down at Draco with something akin to pity. “You’re not my problem anymore, Draco Malfoy. You won’t cause any more trouble now.” He set towards the door, flicking his wand at the two broken mugs on his way with a quick Scourgify.
Weasley gave Draco a sarcastic nod before following Potter. It was Granger who still stood at the end of his bed, fumbling with the frame as though she still wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
Draco hoped she’d just go, because fuck - he really did NOT want to hear it.
“Hermione?” Weasley said as he opened the door. “You coming?”
She looked up at Draco then, and the best way he could name her expression was regretful. She sighed before turning to the redhead, nodding silently and turning her back on Draco.
“Don’t fuss about it yet, Malfoy,” Potter said before they were all out the door. “One of us will drop by every now and then to check up on your arm. Wouldn’t want you dead after all the trouble we went through, right?” He paused, as though actually waiting for him to reply. “Right. Either way, if it won’t be me - then, well, I wish you a nice life, Malfoy. I really do.” He smiled, a little crazed, and nodded curtly. “Goodbye.”
And about the time Draco got enough of his senses back to mumble back, “Fuck you, Potter” the door was long closed and he could hear them chatter outside, almost cheerfully as they made their way, until their voices died away completely.
“You feel happy now, Harry?” he’d heard Granger say. “And you, Ron? Feel satisfied now, hmn?”
“Yeah, actually,” Weasley had replied. “Now that you mention it, I feel loads better.”
“You two are unbelievable,” she had muttered. “Playing Mr. and Mrs. Inspector on him like that. What was that? I thought we were going to do it togeth-“
“HEY!” Potter’d interrupted. “Mr and Mrs? What the hell, Hermione?”
“Watch it, Harry,” Weasley said seriously. “’S’not her fault you’re the woman.”
Light laughter was heard throughout the woods, and it didn’t stop until the trio was gone completely.
It was then Draco hung over the bed’s edge, frantically looking for anything to relieve his upcoming nausea in.
THE BOSS
In which all works backwards
It was so peculiar, so strange to him that she hadn’t changed at all. It had been years, and yet he just couldn’t see it. In his mind he full well realised that this was ridiculous, that the changes were there, but he simply could not name one. Her hair seemed frazzled and uncared for, and he swore the bothersome lock had hung in the exact same way at the exact same place last time he saw Granger. Her clothes were bound to be different, but his memories were blurred and he couldn’t imagine her clothed in anything else but the dull suit she was wearing right now.
Not a day could’ve possibly passed since he last saw her. Hell, even the angry blush on her cheeks was still there!
But Draco knew it was all in his head. He wasn’t sure what the bitter feeling in his chest meant, but he rather wished not a day had passed. Rather wished to know what would’ve happened if he got to say certain words over again, knowing what he did now. And it was a sad moment, because knowing that it probably wouldn’t have changed a thing only made the bitter taste rise to his throat.
“So you’re the boss,” he said, as if greeting an old friend.
Granger was leaning against the wall, arms crossed to her chest. The fallen chair was still on the floor, and Draco assumed she wasn’t planning on taking a seat.
“Congratulations on the job,” he added when she didn’t reply. “Sounds fancy.”
If she weren’t looking straight at him, Draco would have wondered whether she noted he was in the room. She didn’t acknowledge him in any other visible manner.
“I must say I’m honoured. You coming all the way down here just to drop an old friend a visit,” he nodded, pulling an impressed face. “Real classy there, Granger. I’m glad your position hasn’t gone to your head.”
Still unmoving, the brunette pursed her lips. Finally! Draco cheered inside. A reaction of any kind was always better than none.
“Unless, that is, you expected me…” he offered, watching her closely. “Did you, Granger? Expect me?”
Silence.
“You can tell me, you know. I won’t tell anyone. Did you send that nasty little German after me, Granger?” The corners of his lips twitched. “Were you worried I was making trouble again?”
At this she raised a brow, and Draco congratulated himself on finding a nerve.
“Are you quite done now, Malfoy?” she asked. Her voice was still the same, too. He had to catch his breath.
“In a situation like this?” Draco replied, looking around him. “Impossibly.”
She sighed, bringing one hand up to lightly touch her forehead. “I need you to explain me something,” she said, as though contemplating a very difficult question.
Draco lifted his head, grinning. “Shoot!”
Granger glared at him, visibly annoyed by his light spirited attitude. “Well,” she began through clenched teeth. “I need you to explain me why you quit.”
“Quit?” he repeated. “Quit what?”
“What do you think, Malfoy?”
Draco shrugged. “It would’ve been a little clearer if you wouldn’t have called it ‘quit’,” he explained. “Quitting would have to involve free will. I wouldn’t exactly call it that, considering I’m tried to this chair with chains right now.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Granger quickly barked.
Ooh. Touchy.
“We’ve been on your tail for years now, Malfoy. You knew it, you’d never let yourself be caught! Especially not by a first timer like that.”
“You’re the boss.” He shrugged. “Your decision to send the rookie after me; not mine.”
“Oh please, Malfoy!” she exclaimed, pushing herself off the wall. “You’ve probably been tracking the poor sod for weeks now. You knew very well who he was long before he even approached you.”
Draco sighed. “What’s it to you, Granger?”
“It’s my investigation. That’s all the reason I need,” she said, a hard look about her features he’d never seen before. “Why did you quit now? Why turn yourself in like that?”
“Geoff is gone. It’s no fun running it by myself.”
She huffed. “I don’t believe it.”
“What do you believe, Granger?” he snapped, moving as much forwards as the chair allowed him to. “What do you want me SAY?”
She lifted her chin determinately. “Tell me why you quit.” And then, when all she got was a hateful glare, “You owe me that, Malfoy!”
“I owe you NOTHING!” he yelled in return. She was being ridiculous, and chances were she full well knew it.
Granger didn’t reply right away. For a few silent minutes she stood there, looking at her shoes and Draco could almost see the thoughts spinning about her head.
“Why give it up?” she asked quietly.
Draco gave her a puzzled look.
“Freedom, you idiot!” she cried. “Because do you have any idea what I’ve been through to give you that? What it took to put a person in that-“
“OH, BOO FUCKING HOO, GRANGER!” Draco shouted, rolling his head back in frustration. He took a deep breath, looking back at her. “Don’t you dare use me as a material for your guilt trips again.”
She made a wary noise, lifting her arms up in question. “Then why? It’s all you’ve ever whined about, all you ever seemed to care about-so now you got it it’s not so appealing anymore? So what, you’re giving it up? Is that it?”
Draco quietly counted to ten, being the bigger person because it was all he could afford being right now. “This was my choice, Granger,” he told her. “MINE. Not yours, not Weasley’s, MINE. Don’t fuck with it.”
Granger groaned, looking up for nonexistent help. “But I don’t UNDERSTAND you!” she cried. “I just don’t UNDERSTAND YOU, DRACO!”
He swallowed.
Draco didn’t know how she felt, but for him his name lingered heavily in the air. Like summer rain clouds; somewhat awkwardly and out of place, and for the most highly unwelcome.
“Look,” he mumbled quietly. “I was done, okay?”
“Wh…” she breathed. “What?”
“I was done, Granger,” he repeated a little louder, looking up to Granger eyeing him strangely. “And for fuck’s sake don’t look at me like that! It has nothing to do with morals, you hear me woman? NOTHING! I was just done.”
She frowned. “What do you mean, done? How can you be done with it after-“
He could tell her all kind of things. Half truths and half lies, the stuff he whines to himself about when he’s alone in Geoff’s guest room, the one of which he pasted the ceiling full with pictures and posters. Things about junkies ringing his doorbell at 3 am, wanting a fix, a loan, a hearty talk. Aurors and bobbies and not one fucking person he could trust. He was in control of the neighbourhood, but it was a chain effect that seemed endless. If he didn’t give the dealers the dealers didn’t provide the costumers, the costumers would search elsewhere. The provision would decline and the prices would rise and soon enough no one would be able to afford it - the dealers would come in short and refuse to take the risk anymore. The branch would crumble and die, slowly dragging the rest of the economy with it and--
“I just fucking AM, Granger! I’m done, I quit, I don’t want it anymore! Take me away, lock me up, give me to Azkaban - I DON’T CARE! I’m just done. Just done!”
She seemed taken aback for a moment. But her expression cleared out, and she began to consider it. “Just…done?”
“Just done,” he repeated tiredly.
Slowly, a strange smile spread across the girl’s features. He didn’t like it. He liked it even less when she was suddenly in motion, moving behind his chair to fumble with the chains.
“What are you doing?” he asked wildly, trying to look behind his back.
The chains made a loud clunck, and his hands were free.
“D’you have to ask?”
No, he didn’t.
Immediately Draco was up on his feet, rubbing his wrists in relief. But the moment of happiness was short-lived, and he quickly realised that-- “Wait-WAIT! You…you can’t do this!” he told her as she walked to stand before him. “I said I quit. I mean it. You can’t do this again, Granger, it’s MY choice, you can’t-“
“As long as you’re under my care, Malfoy, I can do whatever I want,” she cut him off, holding out her arm. “Hold on to me - we’re apparating.”
Part 4
Thank-you for participating in the Hot Summer Nights with Draco and Hermione fic exchange.
Title: Big
Author: derryere
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Sex 'n DRUGS 'n ROCK AND-- I mean, language.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
Author Notes/Beta Credits: Okay, a HUGE HONKIN' shout out to sandi_wandi who beta'd this on a supersuper short notice and did an amazing job (Otherwise you'd all be reading about drug dealing squids right now) aaand saved my buttkes. AND!! To yuying_luo, my non-stop support system.
Summary: When it rains, it pours. When you're Draco Malfoy, it's a fucking monsoon.
ACHILLES’ HEEL
Or so we thought it was
It hurt. It hurt so much that Draco was amazed he was still able to breathe, because all his energy must’ve surely been wasted on his senses telling his brain how much he was hurting. He didn’t exactly remember when the noises around him stopped, when even the sound of his own wailing got lost in the muffled buzz that filled his head. He remembered falling down, and hitting his head against something hard. It must’ve been the curb, or… or someone else.
At that thought, Draco immediately opened his eyes. He didn’t know much of fighting, but lying with the dead was never a good sign. It only takes a moment for them to think you’re one too, leave you behind, leave you to rot with the rest.
It was hard to see; whatever he hit his head against, it must’ve still been wet from the rain because little droplets hung from his lashes, blurring his sigh. He made to wipe his face with his good hand, but didn’t quite understand what was happening when his sleeve coloured red. Draco wiped again, with a somewhat whiter patch of cloth, but the same thing happened again. Trembling, he searched the surface of his forehead, cringing almost immediately as his fingers scraped the surface of a deep wound. Looking at his red hand, Draco couldn’t do much to express his horror but scream. He opened his mouth, straining his vocal cords, but no sound came. He tried once more, attempting to set himself off the ground, but the pain in his right arm directly reminded him of what woke him up in the first place.
His arm.
He didn’t even dare to look at it. Merlin knew what kind of an awful spell hit it. All Draco understood was that the spell wasn’t meant for his arm, and that he should be glad Nymphadora seemed to have the worst aim he’d ever seen.
Rather uselessly, he reached for his robes, ripping a big part of the hem with his left arm and using it to cover his right one, sprawled out next to him. With eyes tightly closed, not having a gut strong enough to deal with these kinds of things.
Breathing deeply from the little activity that still deemed to drain him, Draco rolled his head back, looking up at the sky. Still cloudy as ever, though not as bad as before; a few stars were visible through the grey drape. With mixed emotions he remembered what Thompson said earlier. It seemed to make sense now, though. The weather really couldn’t be arsed. Not an hour later, and it still didn’t bother to change. Tens of lives were gone, Draco’s would most probably never be the same again, and yet, there were the two sparrows again - flying through his vision a great height above everyone, not a care in the world.
Draco wished he still had his wand; he’d hex the feathered bitches to their grave.
Almost lazily, he let his head roll to his left, looking farther down the street.
They were still at it. He couldn’t see clearly who they were, the big blurbs of light shooting about and the smoke made it difficult to recognise anyone. All he saw were dark features, fingers clutching to their wand, shadows and shapes; every now and then someone would fall silently. Now that he thought of it - everything, down to the spells, happened in complete silence.
After a small moment of wondering how this could possibly be, Draco brought his left hand to his ear, forming a shell as he covered it. Raised his hand a little, then covered his ear again.
Nothing.
Holy shit, he’d gone deaf.
He was deaf. Completely deaf.
But there were possibilities, right? They could fix it, couldn’t they? The Healers? They better - THEY BETTER! He wasn’t going through life as a deaf man. No way. No way in hell. There must be a solution - there HAD to be. He was a MALFOY, for fuck’s sake! He’d rather die than go through life crippled.
That is, if they even found him.
They’d been so foolish. Of course the Order was expecting an attack, sometime. And of course they couldn’t possibly know where it would come, of course! So they adapted. They had their own ways, own ways for calling for backup. They easily matched the Death Eaters in quantity, and all Draco and his team were left with was a minute’s head start.
And it wasn’t enough. FUCK, it wasn’t nearly enough. It was just like all the other battles, all the other unorganised, stupid battles. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! This was supposed to be different. This was supposed to get them where they didn’t expect it - THEIR ACHILLES HEEL!
But it didn’t. And now, with all concept of time beyond him, Draco numbly watched the remains of his battalion. Who knew how many men were down by now? Who knew if the dark figure just hit by blinding green was a Death Eater of a member of the Order? Perhaps it was Weasley. Or Granger.
He didn’t like the thought of that. He really hoped to be there when that happened.
There weren’t that many left. No more than two dozen for as far he could see right now; some were fighting against two, some couples were attacked by one. He just waited, and hoped - hoped anyone would tear themselves from the battle and come to look for him between the ones that fell long ago. Hoped that someone would realise he was missing, that he wasn’t dead, that he was here! Get him out, get him back home, back to mother. She’d be sure to take care of him, fix his head and arm and ears…he just wanted out of it, HE WANTED OUT!
Towards the outer line of the fight, the one closest to him, Draco vaguely noted another figure fall. For a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of a familiar face, but before he could be sure, his attention was caught by the owner of the hex. Instead of jumping back into the fight, picking out a next victim to battle, the caster quickly turned to run from the scene. Running towards Draco.
It wasn’t until he was a seven feet distance from him Draco realised who the runner was.
“Thompson!” Draco cried, hoping he was making sound because he couldn’t hear a thing.
Tom, ready to run past him, stopped still in his tracks, looking around puzzled. “Malfoy?” his lips formed the name.
“YES!” Draco shouted, trying to lift his head as far as he could. “I’M HERE! I’M HERE!”
Thompson hurried towards him, scanning the ground till he spotted Draco - and he once again fell still.
“I… I’m hurt!” Draco said a little helplessly. “I need you to get me out of here!”
Thompson swallowed, his eyes drifting towards the cloth covering Draco’s arm.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with it. Couldn’t look,” he explained. “Please, Tom, get me out of here!”
But to his great surprise and sinking gut, Thompson slowly - but decisively - shook his head.
Draco stopped breathing. “Wh… what? What no?”
Thompson’s lips were moving quickly now, he said something long that Draco couldn’t follow.
“What?” Draco asked, his hand reaching to touch his ear. “I… I can’t hear you! My ears, they won’t… they won’t work, Tom - PLEASE, just get me ou--!”
“No,” Thomson cut him off. He then gestured towards his own neck, as though he were choking. “Dead,” he said.
“I’m not dead!” Draco shouted desperately. “Thompson, I’m not dead!”
Tom shook his head, pointing at Draco now to emphasize his point. “Dying,” he said. “You’re dying, Malfoy.” And then another stream of words followed, one of which Draco could barely make out a few. Things like “burden” and “no use” and “goodbye.”
“NO!” he screamed at Thompson’s retreating back. “DON’T-DON’T LEAVE ME! THOMPSON!”
He started running, running away from Draco - it didn’t take long before the darkness enveloped him completely.
“FUCK IT, THOMPSON! COME BACK! COME BACK, YOU FUCKING RAT! I’LL KILL YOU! COME BACK! Come…” It was hard to keep the uneven breathing from turning into sobs, even if he didn’t hear it himself. “Don’t… leave… don’t leave me… please…”
Something salty sank into a scratch on his cheek, making it sting mercilessly.
He was going to die.
He was going to die alone and deaf on the curb of a muggle street. No big goodbyes, no hell fire, no single beam of sunlight or a final hex exploding all over the place or anything… just him. Alone. Kind of pathetic and crying. It was so disappointing, the only reason he could think of why he wanted to live right now was so he’d be able to die differently.
So when something large and black blocked the light from his eyes, he was pretty sure he was gone.
Imagine the surprise when the something large and black slapped him across the cheek.
Draco screamed, lifting his left hand to protect him from whatever this was. The black thing retreated a little, and Draco felt a warm hand touching his arm, gently forcing it down. He was shaking, quivering and so ready to just stop breathing altogether. He blinked a few times at the black thing, and slowly began to distinguish a head. A head, and shoulders, and two arms - one hand on his, one holding on to a wand - and a chest, heaving. The person seemed to be breathing shallowly.
He suddenly wished he’d asked Thompson to finish him off.
Granger was kneeling next to him, looking at something he couldn’t see on his left, shouting something he couldn’t make out, motioning someone to come over. She then turned her attention back to Draco, observing him coldly and a little detached. Her eyes lingered for a moment at his forehead, his wound, then travelled to his arm. Without asking, she reached for the cloth covering it. Draco eyed her closely as she quickly dropped it back down, her hand leaving his arm to cover her mouth. Her attention snapped back to him, looking him in the eye for the first time. There was something akin to sympathy and question in hers, and he made sure she wasn’t looking anywhere as he returned it with venomous hate.
“Don’t you dare, Granger,” he said. “Just get away. Just get the fuck away from me.”
She narrowed her eyes, scowling. “Believe me,” she mouthed, “I would love to.”
“I would’ve killed you, you know,” he replied simply. “If I had gotten the chance, I would’ve killed you. I advise you to do the same.”
Granger snarled and made sure he wasn’t looking anywhere but at her as she reached for his right arm, wrapping her fingers around it through the cloth. All Draco could remember before passing out was pain - bigger than life, burning all over kind of pain and a pair of brown, sad eyes.
EIN HALBER HUND
Kann nicht pinklen
“Where is Geoff?”
“Geoff is… dead,” he answered the question, adding a simple grin to it.
The German’s nostrils widened as he took deep breaths, attempting to keep himself calm.
“Bullshit,” he said. “You’re lying, Densil. And you’re only making it worse for yourself.”
“Who, me?” Draco asked, imitating surprise. “But I’m having a great time! You’re a real hoot, kid. Now look me in the eye and tell me you’re not having a great time!”
The German grinded his teeth, which made Draco smirk. He liked the boy a whole lot more when he didn’t talk English.
“Where. Is. Geoff?”
“I told you,” Draco replied in an airy tone. “Geoff is dead. Dead, dead, dead.”
The interrogator slammed a fist on the table. “BULLSHIT, MALFOY!”
Eyebrows raised, Draco blinked at the man. “Temper,” he said quietly, then added with a little more voice, “But I’m not lying though. I saw it happen - Johnny Dimaccio shot him last Wednesday. Two bullets, right in the back. Nasty kid, that Johnny. A mighty breath, though - y’can smell him coming a mile off.”
The German pinched the bridge of his nose, and Draco thought he was way too young for this kind of work. But then again, no one had the ambition like the bottom layer of his generation. Not old enough to have fully participated in the war, not young enough to forget it. Convinced to rectify their parents’ actions, convinced all decisions made in the past decennia were mistakes waiting to happen. Because no one could’ve possibly been thinking straight during the war, right?
Draco was forced to agree with them on that point.
No one was thinking straight. Oh, it felt like they had more clarity than ever, sure! Like suddenly everything made sense and everyone knew what to do because when that spell leaves your wand it feels so good. And when political correctness and unspoken human laws are gone and everything is allowed, then of course - of course nothing seems wrong! But in reality they were all unfocused, more or less high on forced-fed freedom and cheap magic. No one was thinking straight.
Yeah, he’d give them that.
But that’s about as far as it went, too.
“Geoff is not dead, Malfoy,” the German insisted. “The squib was spotted on Burlock street two days ago, for fuck’s sake. Today’s Saturday. Now either your partner has a great talent for taking bullets, or you’re lying. I hope you’ll excuse me for going with the latter.”
Draco grinned. “Never underestimate Geoff,” he replied, shaking his head. “He’s tough meat, you know. For a squib.”
The man snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me about it,” he mumbled, rubbing his neck absent mindedly. “Ministry’s been after the scumbag for years. Each time we get this close he disappears. No trace, no evidence, no nothing.”
Draco’s grin faltered a little. It was his decision completely to do this, and he realised it very well, but it seemed only now to dawn on him he was never going to see Geoff again. It made him feel a little dull inside, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.
“But you!” the German continued, looking at Draco somewhat amused. “You got yourself quite a reputation too, haven’t you? Escaped war criminal flees to the Muggle world only to join the lowest of the kind. I heard quite some stories about you, you know,” he nodded, raising his eyebrows at Draco. “They seem to think you’re quite a something around there. I spoke to one guy who was completely convinced you got stuck in a bad trip a few years ago, that you’ve lost all sense of time and saw everything in fast forward. Like being stuck in Road Runner reruns, I believe he said. Old guy, dark skinned, misses two front teeth - you know who I’m talking about, Malfoy?”
Draco laughed softly. Gotta’ love that Rodney’s imagination.
The German smiled at him, but it was everything but kind. “Tell me where Geoff is.”
Draco shrugged warily, “I don’t know, man. Maybe Rodney has an idea, somewhere like up your-“
“SHIT! Don’t FUCK with me!” he cut him off, finger pointing and standing up wildly, making the chair fall over behind him. “Ein halber Hund kann nicht pinklen, Malfoy. If Geoff wasn’t here to provide your stash, how do you explain the soap?”
“Geoff wanted me to consider it as his parting gift,” he replied, a ghost of a smirk about his lips. “He’s a nice guy, you see.”
The grimace on the young man’s face seemed to worsen; his eyes were narrowed and his teeth barely showing. He took a breath fit for a booming shout - but was refrained from any such activities by a sudden knock on the door. In a blink of an eye the German’s expression was schooled into a calm one, as he cleared his throat.
“Come in,” he grumbled somewhat bitterly.
The door opened and an official looking Auror, not an awful lot older than Draco himself, appeared at the doorway.
“What is it, Art?” the German barked at seeing him. “Can’t you see I’m busy here?”
The Auror observed his college coolly. “Yeah, and that’s the deal, Goldwasser,” he said. “The boss wants to handle this case.”
“WHAT?” the other cried, forgetting his annoyance for a moment. “No way, this is my case!”
Art shrugged. “Boss’ orders. I’m just the messenger.”
“But it’s MY case!” the German insisted. “Fuck, I’ve been on this one for months, they can’t just-“
“They can do whatever they want, rookie.”
Infuriated, the German turned to Draco, jabbing his finger in his general direction - as if it were his fault!
“Hey, don’t look at me, rookie,” Draco said quickly, wriggling his arms under the binds and chains of the chair. “I was just looking for a good conversation.”
MR & MRS INSPECTOR
In which the tables turn
Draco’s eyes snapped open. Wherever he was, it certainly didn’t look like he expected it to. In his imagination it always looked big - really big, with silver clouds and fountains of fire and naked women with wings and… well, certainly no wooden ceilings, like the one he was looking at. Around the time the icky taste in his mouth became unbearable forcing him to swallow, Draco deduced this wasn’t the beyond world. Because even if they did have wooden ceilings, they certainly would not come with wood bugs and beetles.
He wiggled his hips a little, trying out the ground he was lying on. A spring digging into his back told him it was a mattress, and the smell of cat urine told him this wasn’t home. What did share a nice story with him was the great deal of pain in his right arm at the slightest movement.
Immediately stilling himself, Draco craned his memory as to what the hell happened. It didn’t take long to recall, but processing proved somewhat challenging. It was the vaguely familiar sound of kitchenware clucking together that brought him back instantly.
Where the FUCK was he?
Draco clenched his teeth together, took a deep breath and pushed himself against the back of the bed as fast as he could. His arm hadn’t even quit throbbing from the last movement, and a new surge of fresh pain shot through it. He muffled a groan by biting his lip; wanting to inspect his surroundings first before making everyone aware he was helpless and wounded and… well, awake.
What he found, though, was no after world but definitely equally dumbfounding.
Draco blinked a few times. This couldn’t be- no way it was - BRAIN DAMAGE! That had to be it. Severe brain damage, that’s what was wrong with him.
Ron’s elbow, supporting his head in his hand, slowly slid off the chair’s arm. This, however, didn’t wake him up the slightest. He simply made a meaningless sound, barely opened his eyes, and turned to support his chin on the other hand. On Draco’s left hand side was Harry Potter who, on the other hand, seemed to make use of a much more efficient manner of napping: he simply threw his head back over the chair’s back, his mouth wide open, making quiet gurgling noises.
Question mark.
Draco found it an unsettling idea that this scene seemed to make him more nervous than twenty two-headed Hippogriffs would’ve.
“There wasn’t any sugar, Ron, so I just-“
The source of sound caught him so off guard, that for a moment Draco thought the drooling Potter was belly-speaking. But quick his attention snapped towards the other end of the small room, just in time to catch the sight of Hermione Granger dropping the two mugs she was holding, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlight.
The breaking china was enough to make the two sleeping dwarfs jump up, wands out and about before Draco was even able to utter a word of protest.
The scene froze. For what seemed to be a ridiculously long time they all stayed firmly in their positions - Weasley and Potter at both sides of the bed with their wands pointed at Draco’s head, and Draco looking from one point to another, wide-eyed and a little shocked.
It was Granger who spoke first.
“Y-you can put them down now,” she said, looking from Weasley to Potter. “You know he can’t hurt you.”
Weasley looked at her quizzically, as though just realising she was in the room as well, but then slowly lowered his wand. Potter wasn’t as willing, narrowing his eyes at Draco as he drew back his arm - wand forever at Draco’s eye level.
Draco licked his lips. They were dry and doing so helped, just like it helped stretching time before he had to say something. Because honestly, he had no idea what to say. What question to ask or what to accuse them all of - the situation was so farfetched and improbable in his state of mind, that he might as well have found himself in a bath full of pigmy puffs. Though he was certain he didn’t want them speaking first - no, he wanted to pull the answers from them, to make them reply as he swore and cursed and hexed about.
If he could get his wand, that is…
If they even had his wand, because he’d lost it even before… before…
His hand shot up to his ear, ticking on the shell as if checking it. He was hearing! HOLY HELL, he wasn’t deaf! He couldn’t help but let out a relieved chuckle, closing his eyes as he thanked the Gods of war for being kind on-
“We healed it.”
He opened his eyes, looking blankly at Granger.
“Your eardrum,” she explained timidly. “It’s healed now,” she added, looking as though expecting a reply.
“What?” he barked, scowling at the lot. “D’you expect me to express gratitude or something?”
Granger raised her eyebrows. “A thank-you would be nice start, yes.”
“Bite me, Granger,” he hissed. “I didn’t ask for any favours.”
And as though on cue, Weasley was in action. His wand was back up and all too close to Draco’s neck. “Apologise, Malfoy,” he said, surprisingly calm. And vaguely Draco noted something about the boy’s demeanour changed.
“Shove off!” he retorted, swatting away the wand. “I’m not apologising to the mudbl-“
“APOLOGISE!” Weasley boomed, now poking the wand into Draco’s neck. “She saved your life, Malfoy. You know that? She saved your MISERABLE little life - that’s more than a lot of us would’ve done. You should express a whole lot more than gratitude, you little SHIT!”
Unmoved by the speech, Draco stared back at the redhead, feeling the wood jab against his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Granger approach the boy, softly putting a hand on his arm, guiding it back down.
“It’s okay, Ron,” she said. “I really didn’t expect anything else.”
“Oh, stop being so fucking holy,” Draco turned to her, remembering perfectly well how it all happened. “I told you to leave me alone, didn’t I! You didn’t save me because you care, stupid girl - you saved me so you could feel better about yourself! So fuck that, I’m not helping you stroke your ego. Over my dead body I’m thanking you--” He turned to Ron, fuming next to her. “Over my dead body I’m thanking HER!”
He thought the redhead would pull his wand on him again, but to Draco’s surprise, someone beat him to it. The jab, this time, came form the other side - and went straight into his arm.
Roaring in pain, Draco threw his head back, bumping hard against the wall. With the new source of pain in the back of his head, the blonde curled into a miserable ball on the mattress, whimpering quietly.
“Then you won’t talk at all,” Potter said, smiling at him. He then sat back into the large chair, cocking his head so that it aligned with Draco’s current point of view. “Which is kind of handy, because I’ve got some things to tell you. And you know you,” he grinned at Draco, “You wouldn’t let me get out one word, with that attitude problem of yours.”
Draco tried to retort, but didn’t manage anything more coherent than ‘fujoo snfeech!’ Instead he grunted, hoping Potter would sense the insult all the same.
The said boy sighed, leaning back into his chair. “You might have noticed that your arm is a little sensitive right now.”
The anger allowed Draco to forget the pain for a tiny moment, and he barely threw back a “A LITTLE sensitive?!” before Potter cut him off again.
“Let me finish!” he barked, waiting for Draco to calm down before continuing. “The only thing keeping you from a bunch of very pissed off Aurors at the moment is US, Malfoy. Ron, Hermione and me. So you’d better learn to show some self control.” Potter observed him for a few pensive moments, scratching his jaw line. Draco then noticed Potter looked like absolute crap, really, couldn’t have possibly looked better than Draco himself. Unshaved, somewhat dirty and a tired look that could only grow on a person over the time of months, not days.
“Thing is, Malfoy, you’re a reckless little boy,” he resumed his line of thought. “We can’t have you running around, doing reckless little things that’ll get us into trouble. You being here,” he nodded at Draco, “is enough trouble. None of us are healers, but Hermione was prepared to do the best she could to keep the damage limited, out of the goodness of her heart,” he alliterated the sentence as if Draco was still deaf. Snarling, the blonde looked over his shoulder at Granger. The girl seemed determined to look back with as much spirit, but quickly changed her mind, turning away her head. Yeah, as if that would make him go away.
“But, unfortunately for you, Ron and I kind of lack her…graciousness,” Potter continued, demanding Draco’s attention once again. “We found it a much better idea to let that arm of yours heal naturally.”
“Naturally?!” Draco spat, making as much air, trying to get the stray hairs that stuck to his sweaty cheeks out of his vision. “What you MEAN, naturally?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Malfoy,” Potter replied. “It is somewhat healed. You’ve got bones again, that’s a definite plus! But like I said - we can’t have you running around. You can see that…” He flicked his wand at Draco’s cradled arm. “As a reminder.”
“A WHAT?” Draco cried, breathing heavily, pressing his arm more firmly to his chest.
“A reminder,” came Weasley’s voice as he walked into view, standing next to Potter’s chair. “A reminder of the position you are in.”
“The wha…the… the what?!” breathed Draco, his eyes slowly widening. They couldn’t possibly be serious! These weren’t Potter and Weasley - couldn’t be! This must be some kind of test, Polyjuiced, under Imperius! This wasn’t THEM, this wasn’t Gryffindor - this wasn’t heroic! Downright torture, that’s what this was.
“There are some ground rules, of course,” said Potter, ignoring Draco’s confusion. “We save your life, let you live even after you deliberately tried to deprive us of ours - multiple times. Considering those factors, I believe our propositions are extremely mild.”
“Whu--what-FUCK YOU!” Draco exclaimed, pushing himself back up the backboard as the pain in his arm subdued. “I’m not agreeing to anything! I DIDN’T ASK FOR YOU TO SAVE ME!”
Potter shook his head sarcastically, looking up at Weasley who calmly waited for Draco to be finished.
“See, we thought you might say that,” said the redhead. “Had to give you the choice, though. But as you wish, Malfoy. No agreeing on your part will be necessary, we’ll be more than happy to force you.”
“Ron…” he heard Granger mutter from the end of the bed; he hadn’t even noticed her move.
“No, no Ron’s right, Hermione,” Potter interjected. “We gave him the choice. Just like you said, we gave him the choice and you heard what he said!”
“I know - I know that! But can’t we just try and explain what-“
“This is MALFOY, Hermione!” Weasley cut in. “You know there’s no reasoning with him.”
Draco highly disliked the way the three of them talked as though he weren’t in the same room. In fact, he was all too ready to tell them so when Potter beat him to it.
“We let you live here,” he said to Draco, disabling the open-mouthed Granger from speaking. “And you stay here.”
Draco scowled, disgusted at the thought itself. Did they really think they could keep him here? Fucking retards. “You’re off your rocker, Potter,” he told him. “The moment you blink, I’m out of here.”
Potter raised his brows, pulling an impressed impression. “Really?” he said. “With your arm and everything?”
“You really think that’s enough to keep me from running?”
“Was enough to keep you from talking. And that’s saying something.”
Draco threw him a most venomous glare, slowly letting go of his arm - as if proving something. It wasn’t exactly working considering it hurt like hell, but Potter didn’t need to know that. “You can’t stay here all the time, Potter,” Draco said after a deep breath. “You’ll have to go somewhere sometime. And when you do that, I’ll be coming after you, you piece of shit.”
Weasley grinned, touching his forehead thoughtfully. “Without your wand, Malfoy?”
Narrowing his eyes at him, Draco grunted, “I’ll get my wand.” Then to Potter, “although I don’t need a wand to kick you in the face.”
“No, I guess you don’t,” Potter agreed. “But you do need it to lift the wards. Or do you plan to roundhouse kick them in the face too, Malfoy?”*
Draco stared at him, not sure if this was a bluff. “Wards?” he repeated suspiciously.
“Like we said, Malfoy; we gave you the choice.” Potter leaned forward, supporting his arms on his knees. “You’re staying here. Whether you like it or not.”
Draco resisted an urge to bump his head against Potter’s for the sole purpose of inflicting pain on the boy. They were actually planning on keeping him here - in this…
He didn’t even know where he was.
For the first time since he woke up, Draco took the time to look around. Whatever it was - it was definitely small. It looked a little like a cabin. There were no rooms and the only door visible was clearly the exit door. Except for the two chairs next to the bed he was on there was one, ramshackle looking table and a couple of cupboards above a rusty sink.
God, he’d prefer the Grimmauld to this hole.
“You’ll have to take care of yourself,” Potter’s voice made his attention snap back. “There’s an old garden behind, if you’ll ask - kindly - I’m sure we can arrange something for you to plant there.”
“What do I fucking look to you? A POOF?” he spat immediately; at last, a subject that allowed interjection! “I don’t want no sodding flowers, Potter. For fuck’s sake!”
“FOOD, Malfoy! I’m talking about food, you idiot.”
Draco’s glare blanked out. He swallowed. There wasn’t any food here? They weren’t…going to bring him any food?
“Yeah, that’s right,” Weasley said wryly, enjoying Draco’s expression. “Just you and nature, Malfoy. All alone.”
He could feel the blood drain from his face. He wished he could snarl and be a man, pretend to hunt for a hobby and be able to make trees grow by pissing on walnuts - oh, how he wished! But the image of being stuck here, in this godforsaken cabin for the rest of his life, cut off from the rest of the world, no one knowing where he is - HIM not knowing where he is! - branded itself into his brain, making his stomach flip uncomfortably.
“No… NO!” he exclaimed bewildered. “You can’t do this! What’s it to you? Why not just give-“
“Why not just give you to the Aurors?” Potter completed the sentence. “I wouldn’t know,” he shrugged, standing up. “Maybe it’s the goodness of my heart - maybe I’ve got a soft spot, I have no idea. And quite honestly? I don’t care.” He looked down at Draco with something akin to pity. “You’re not my problem anymore, Draco Malfoy. You won’t cause any more trouble now.” He set towards the door, flicking his wand at the two broken mugs on his way with a quick Scourgify.
Weasley gave Draco a sarcastic nod before following Potter. It was Granger who still stood at the end of his bed, fumbling with the frame as though she still wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
Draco hoped she’d just go, because fuck - he really did NOT want to hear it.
“Hermione?” Weasley said as he opened the door. “You coming?”
She looked up at Draco then, and the best way he could name her expression was regretful. She sighed before turning to the redhead, nodding silently and turning her back on Draco.
“Don’t fuss about it yet, Malfoy,” Potter said before they were all out the door. “One of us will drop by every now and then to check up on your arm. Wouldn’t want you dead after all the trouble we went through, right?” He paused, as though actually waiting for him to reply. “Right. Either way, if it won’t be me - then, well, I wish you a nice life, Malfoy. I really do.” He smiled, a little crazed, and nodded curtly. “Goodbye.”
And about the time Draco got enough of his senses back to mumble back, “Fuck you, Potter” the door was long closed and he could hear them chatter outside, almost cheerfully as they made their way, until their voices died away completely.
“You feel happy now, Harry?” he’d heard Granger say. “And you, Ron? Feel satisfied now, hmn?”
“Yeah, actually,” Weasley had replied. “Now that you mention it, I feel loads better.”
“You two are unbelievable,” she had muttered. “Playing Mr. and Mrs. Inspector on him like that. What was that? I thought we were going to do it togeth-“
“HEY!” Potter’d interrupted. “Mr and Mrs? What the hell, Hermione?”
“Watch it, Harry,” Weasley said seriously. “’S’not her fault you’re the woman.”
Light laughter was heard throughout the woods, and it didn’t stop until the trio was gone completely.
It was then Draco hung over the bed’s edge, frantically looking for anything to relieve his upcoming nausea in.
THE BOSS
In which all works backwards
It was so peculiar, so strange to him that she hadn’t changed at all. It had been years, and yet he just couldn’t see it. In his mind he full well realised that this was ridiculous, that the changes were there, but he simply could not name one. Her hair seemed frazzled and uncared for, and he swore the bothersome lock had hung in the exact same way at the exact same place last time he saw Granger. Her clothes were bound to be different, but his memories were blurred and he couldn’t imagine her clothed in anything else but the dull suit she was wearing right now.
Not a day could’ve possibly passed since he last saw her. Hell, even the angry blush on her cheeks was still there!
But Draco knew it was all in his head. He wasn’t sure what the bitter feeling in his chest meant, but he rather wished not a day had passed. Rather wished to know what would’ve happened if he got to say certain words over again, knowing what he did now. And it was a sad moment, because knowing that it probably wouldn’t have changed a thing only made the bitter taste rise to his throat.
“So you’re the boss,” he said, as if greeting an old friend.
Granger was leaning against the wall, arms crossed to her chest. The fallen chair was still on the floor, and Draco assumed she wasn’t planning on taking a seat.
“Congratulations on the job,” he added when she didn’t reply. “Sounds fancy.”
If she weren’t looking straight at him, Draco would have wondered whether she noted he was in the room. She didn’t acknowledge him in any other visible manner.
“I must say I’m honoured. You coming all the way down here just to drop an old friend a visit,” he nodded, pulling an impressed face. “Real classy there, Granger. I’m glad your position hasn’t gone to your head.”
Still unmoving, the brunette pursed her lips. Finally! Draco cheered inside. A reaction of any kind was always better than none.
“Unless, that is, you expected me…” he offered, watching her closely. “Did you, Granger? Expect me?”
Silence.
“You can tell me, you know. I won’t tell anyone. Did you send that nasty little German after me, Granger?” The corners of his lips twitched. “Were you worried I was making trouble again?”
At this she raised a brow, and Draco congratulated himself on finding a nerve.
“Are you quite done now, Malfoy?” she asked. Her voice was still the same, too. He had to catch his breath.
“In a situation like this?” Draco replied, looking around him. “Impossibly.”
She sighed, bringing one hand up to lightly touch her forehead. “I need you to explain me something,” she said, as though contemplating a very difficult question.
Draco lifted his head, grinning. “Shoot!”
Granger glared at him, visibly annoyed by his light spirited attitude. “Well,” she began through clenched teeth. “I need you to explain me why you quit.”
“Quit?” he repeated. “Quit what?”
“What do you think, Malfoy?”
Draco shrugged. “It would’ve been a little clearer if you wouldn’t have called it ‘quit’,” he explained. “Quitting would have to involve free will. I wouldn’t exactly call it that, considering I’m tried to this chair with chains right now.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Granger quickly barked.
Ooh. Touchy.
“We’ve been on your tail for years now, Malfoy. You knew it, you’d never let yourself be caught! Especially not by a first timer like that.”
“You’re the boss.” He shrugged. “Your decision to send the rookie after me; not mine.”
“Oh please, Malfoy!” she exclaimed, pushing herself off the wall. “You’ve probably been tracking the poor sod for weeks now. You knew very well who he was long before he even approached you.”
Draco sighed. “What’s it to you, Granger?”
“It’s my investigation. That’s all the reason I need,” she said, a hard look about her features he’d never seen before. “Why did you quit now? Why turn yourself in like that?”
“Geoff is gone. It’s no fun running it by myself.”
She huffed. “I don’t believe it.”
“What do you believe, Granger?” he snapped, moving as much forwards as the chair allowed him to. “What do you want me SAY?”
She lifted her chin determinately. “Tell me why you quit.” And then, when all she got was a hateful glare, “You owe me that, Malfoy!”
“I owe you NOTHING!” he yelled in return. She was being ridiculous, and chances were she full well knew it.
Granger didn’t reply right away. For a few silent minutes she stood there, looking at her shoes and Draco could almost see the thoughts spinning about her head.
“Why give it up?” she asked quietly.
Draco gave her a puzzled look.
“Freedom, you idiot!” she cried. “Because do you have any idea what I’ve been through to give you that? What it took to put a person in that-“
“OH, BOO FUCKING HOO, GRANGER!” Draco shouted, rolling his head back in frustration. He took a deep breath, looking back at her. “Don’t you dare use me as a material for your guilt trips again.”
She made a wary noise, lifting her arms up in question. “Then why? It’s all you’ve ever whined about, all you ever seemed to care about-so now you got it it’s not so appealing anymore? So what, you’re giving it up? Is that it?”
Draco quietly counted to ten, being the bigger person because it was all he could afford being right now. “This was my choice, Granger,” he told her. “MINE. Not yours, not Weasley’s, MINE. Don’t fuck with it.”
Granger groaned, looking up for nonexistent help. “But I don’t UNDERSTAND you!” she cried. “I just don’t UNDERSTAND YOU, DRACO!”
He swallowed.
Draco didn’t know how she felt, but for him his name lingered heavily in the air. Like summer rain clouds; somewhat awkwardly and out of place, and for the most highly unwelcome.
“Look,” he mumbled quietly. “I was done, okay?”
“Wh…” she breathed. “What?”
“I was done, Granger,” he repeated a little louder, looking up to Granger eyeing him strangely. “And for fuck’s sake don’t look at me like that! It has nothing to do with morals, you hear me woman? NOTHING! I was just done.”
She frowned. “What do you mean, done? How can you be done with it after-“
He could tell her all kind of things. Half truths and half lies, the stuff he whines to himself about when he’s alone in Geoff’s guest room, the one of which he pasted the ceiling full with pictures and posters. Things about junkies ringing his doorbell at 3 am, wanting a fix, a loan, a hearty talk. Aurors and bobbies and not one fucking person he could trust. He was in control of the neighbourhood, but it was a chain effect that seemed endless. If he didn’t give the dealers the dealers didn’t provide the costumers, the costumers would search elsewhere. The provision would decline and the prices would rise and soon enough no one would be able to afford it - the dealers would come in short and refuse to take the risk anymore. The branch would crumble and die, slowly dragging the rest of the economy with it and--
“I just fucking AM, Granger! I’m done, I quit, I don’t want it anymore! Take me away, lock me up, give me to Azkaban - I DON’T CARE! I’m just done. Just done!”
She seemed taken aback for a moment. But her expression cleared out, and she began to consider it. “Just…done?”
“Just done,” he repeated tiredly.
Slowly, a strange smile spread across the girl’s features. He didn’t like it. He liked it even less when she was suddenly in motion, moving behind his chair to fumble with the chains.
“What are you doing?” he asked wildly, trying to look behind his back.
The chains made a loud clunck, and his hands were free.
“D’you have to ask?”
No, he didn’t.
Immediately Draco was up on his feet, rubbing his wrists in relief. But the moment of happiness was short-lived, and he quickly realised that-- “Wait-WAIT! You…you can’t do this!” he told her as she walked to stand before him. “I said I quit. I mean it. You can’t do this again, Granger, it’s MY choice, you can’t-“
“As long as you’re under my care, Malfoy, I can do whatever I want,” she cut him off, holding out her arm. “Hold on to me - we’re apparating.”
Part 4
Thank-you for participating in the Hot Summer Nights with Draco and Hermione fic exchange.